


Aftermath

by OceanMelon



Series: Honey, That's Alright [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Music, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, bassist!keith, because this is a fic i'm writing and apparently i can't have nice things, songwriter!keith, teacher!lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 02:45:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14632464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanMelon/pseuds/OceanMelon
Summary: The moment that Lance dodged security and climbed up on stage isn't without consequences. Such a pivotal moment could never be without them entirely.[you should be fine reading this one without reading the other parts in the series.]





	1. Keith

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much a bridging fic between that moment on stage and any further works in this series.

Keith tries not to think about it but the thought that late night talk shows are a strange concept is inescapable. Their draw is the sense of intimacy between the host -- a constant, a friend, someone you can relate to and project onto -- and a celebrity that would ordinarily never talk to you. A form of fantasy fulfillment where you can pretend you’re the one coming up with funny, witty conversation with a person you can otherwise only idolise. An efficient, intimate conversation between one person and a hundred thousand other people. And yet, that sense of intimacy that is the basis of the whole appeal is compromised by the audience’s very presence there. He doesn’t understand. They should be awkward, forced, unwatchable. Yet, people love them. Late night talk shows are a booming industry. And they make no fucking sense. 

Still, this is hardly the place to be thinking that, sitting perched on the edge of the plush red-velvet armchair as the applause finally dies down. 

_ Here we go. Album promotion time. You can do this. _

He fights down the urge to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants.

“Keith!” says the host and Keith can’t help jumping a little in the seat. “Keith, welcome back. I’m pretty sure -- is this your first time here by yourself? Because, I know, usually we have the whole band in here.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” he manages to reply but he can feel the audience silently watching him like a stranger reading over his shoulder on the train. This is such a weird concept. Who thought of this setup? Who thought this was a good idea? “First time all on my own. Guess I’m a big kid now.”

“I’ve gotta say,” the host steamrolls on, “I think this might be the most formally dressed I’ve ever seen you. No ripped jeans today? No plaid? Look at this, you’re even wearing a jacket.”

And Keith can feel his smile like someone’s painted it on. He’s got to learn to breathe. This can’t be that different to performing on stage. Just because he has to use words now, be the centre of the attention, be funny and witty on command -- and he can’t rehearse this. There’s no holing up in the studio for a straight week before the show, practicing until his fingers bleed so that he’s confident enough to be able to enjoy himself in the moment, to soak up the atmosphere. This is a snap of the fingers and suddenly it’s: ‘say something funny but personally revealing’. 

“Ha, yeah.” He can see it already. That’s going to be the only response he can give all night. “This was definitely not my work. Shiro caught me on my way out the door and… let’s just say he did not think what I was wearing was acceptable. I think he’s words were, ‘You’re going on TV, Keith, not going out to push drugs on the corner.’ And wardrobe here just kind of did the rest. I’m feeling a bit like a mannequin right now.”

Thankfully, the crowd laughs. Thank god they’ve come here with laughter in mind or Keith would be royally fucked. 

“Well, you polish up good, kid, you polish up good.”

Oh god, this host -- Adam MacCormack from ‘Up Late with Adam’ -- is pushing on so determinedly that it’s obvious he has his own agenda. Well, Keith has an agenda too. He has an album to promote. That’s the only damn reason he’s here.

“Now,” says Adam, “I want to talk about the album but first…” Oh, here we go. That mischievous glint in his eye is not a good sign. “You’ve had your own little scandal lately.”

The audience ‘ooh’s like Keith’s just been called in to see the principal. 

“I wouldn’t call it a scandal,” says Keith.

“Just a little one. Because you played at the Hangout Festival last month down in Alabama.” He puts a stupid accent on the word ‘Alabama’ but Keith steadfastly ignores him. 

“We did,” he says. 

“And the next day…” Adam’s rummaging around under his desk. Finally, he pulls out a black sheet of card and props it up for the camera to see. “OK! Magazine came out with  _ this _ .’

And Keith just shuts his eyes. Because this isn’t happening. There’s no way this is happening to him. This is exactly why he didn’t want the world to see Lance. He just knew this sort of shit would be the result.

The card is actually a magazine cover on which a series of photos, taken from above the crowd with some TV drone during the event, take pride of place: The show continuing as normal; the parting of the crowd; Keith, so shocked and pale he looks like he’s standing in front of a green-screen, standing stock still before Lance.

The headline is: ‘ _ Secret Lover Comes Forth?!’ _

And Keith kind of wants to die.

“D’you want to tell us what’s happening here?” says Adam, glee visible all over his face.

The answer, rather obviously, is ‘no’. No, Keith does not  _ want  _ to tell him about this, about Lance, about anything that’s not his fucking business at all. But that’s not how the show works. Because, for as long as Keith is sitting in this chair, he and Adam MacCormack are best friends and there’s absolutely no one eavesdropping on this private conversation at all. 

“Ah,” he says eloquently and the audience laughs. Suddenly Keith regrets ever being glad that they were so ready to find him funny. “That’s, uh…” He scratches at his neck. A stupid tick he picked up from Shiro. “That’s Lance.”

“Lance,” says Adam. 

“Lance,” Keith confirms.

“And who is… Lance?”

“Fucked if I know.” The words are out of his mouth before he has time to think about them. But the audience is laughing again so… he’s still doing a good job on album promotion?

Even Adam is laughing. “You don’t even know him?”

“No, I --” Keith pushes his bangs out of his face angrily. “I do. I just…”

“Are you dating?” Adam thinks he’s helping. He’s really not. This is never going to be a conversation Keith wants to have on national television.

He just kind of shrugs. “Maybe?”

“It’s complicated?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” says Adam. “Let’s go back to the problem here. That’s Lance. ‘Nough said. How’d he get on stage? Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“Because I have!” Keith laughs. A horrible, breathy thing. “Until he pushed passed security and climbed on stage, I hadn’t seen him for six years.”

_ Alright. This isn’t so hard. _

He takes a deep breath and smiles at the audience. He just has to walk that delicate tightrope between the truth and what he’s willing to reveal to the world. 

“What?” says Adam. “He just climbed up himself?”

“Yeah, he… um…” He swallows. “He recognised the song.”

“But, I thought -- Wasn’t that the first time you’d played  _ Cocoon  _ to an audience?”

“Yeah,” says Keith and then changes his mind, “No, I mean, he didn’t recognise the  _ song  _ he recognised the… the  _ events  _ in the song.”

“Ah,” says Adam.

“Yeah,” Keith replies. 

“It’s about him.”

“It is.”

The audience laughs again and Keith is  _ this  _ close to just fucking standing up and walking out.

“And he… was angry about that?” Adam prompts.

“No.” Keith runs a hand through his hair again. “He -- what you have to understand is that we’re both idiots.” They laugh. “So when we split, he thought I’d dumped him and I thought he’d dumped me and… just a huge mess. Understandably, he was… I’d say  _ confused _ that I’d gone and written a song about him. And, Lance being Lance, he needed his answers right fucking now. Hence --” He gestures lightly to the magazine cover still sitting on Adam’s desk. 

“Oh my,” he says. “But you’re back together now?”

Keith just makes a face. The audience apparently loves his awkwardness. He hopes to god Lance isn’t watching this.

“Right, right,” laughs Adam. “It’s complicated. But -- I hope, at least -- you’ve talked about this.”

“We have,” says Keith and Adam sighs in relief. 

 

And what a conversation that was. 

After Keith had persuaded Lance to spend the rest of the show backstage rather than brave the crowds with an X on his back. After the show had ended and Hunk had come and gone, scolding his best friend for scaring ‘the living daylights’ out of him before hurrying off to another stage and another act. After Keith had somehow persuaded Lance to wait backstage even longer -- “Just another hour,  _ please _ , Lance.” -- so he could join the band in the merch tent, signing autographs and meeting fans. After all that, as they stood together in the dark among the support beams and cables of the temporary arena --  _ Ark of Taujeer _ having already taken over the stage and filling the air with their dark, electronic sound -- they realised they had no idea what to say to each other.

“So,” Lance said eventually, rocking back on his heels. “Where does this leave us?”

Keith just stood there, lip between his teeth again, and fingers fidgeting nervously. 

“‘Cause I know we kind of just made out in front of a bunch of strangers but… like… I don’t want to -- I don’t know --  _ pressure  _ you into anything,” said Lance.

“What? No. I --” Keith started suddenly before he realised he didn’t know where that thought was going. “I’m really sorry, Lance.”

“Oh. I see. Okay.”

“No!” Keith interrupted again. “I meant, I’m really sorry I made you wait for so fucking long only to tell you I have no clue what the hell is going on. You… you left. Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

Lance watched him for a long moment, eyes narrowed like Keith was a puzzle he could solve if he just thought hard enough.

“I… had to?” is the response he eventually decided on. “Keith, you… you realise I had to leave LA at some point, right? I had family back on the east coast and half a college degree to finish and I couldn’t just keep living in an AirBnB forever. I didn’t have that sort of money. I  _ still  _ don’t have that sort of money.”

“I know that.”

“Then… I don’t get why you’re so upset that I left.”

“Because!” Keith was pacing back and forth. Unable to quite put into words the way it felt the moment he realised the fantasy he was living couldn’t last forever. “You never said anything! You just… left. We didn’t -- I had no idea what was supposed to happen after that. Was I just some sort of holiday for you Lance? Fly to a new city and fuck a stranger for a month or two and then just jet back into your real life? ‘What happens in Vegas’, right? Was that what I was?”

“Jesus Christ, Keith! What do you think I am? I’m not a monster. I… I fucking told you I  _ loved you _ and you really think that I would -- And fuck you, too! You rejected my friend request!”

“I thought you were just being cruel!”

They were both panting by then, chests heaving and hearts heavy, and just staring at each other. Thankfully  _ Ark of Taujeer _ were too loud for anyone else to hear them shouting. 

“What?” said Lance.

“I dunno,” Keith replied. “I thought… it felt like… You know in the movies whenever some girl dumps some guy she’s always like, ‘Oh, we can still be friends’. But you know she’s only saying that because she can see this guy’s heart breaking right in front of her and she feels bad. It’s totally empty. They’re never really going to be friends. They’ll just lose the excuse of rejecting invitations when they know the other will be there. They’ll be talking twice a year for the rest of their lives. One ‘happy birthday’ each, posted to facebook. And I just… I hated to think you pitied me for loving you too much.”

“Keith,” said Lance, “what the fuck? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It did at the time.” He hunched his shoulders, arms crossed, voice small.

Lance took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let it out again. “So,” he says, “you  _ did  _ love me?”

“Yeah.”

“Even though you never once seemed to care that I was leaving? Until now, obviously.”

“I was scared. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know what we were or what you wanted or what would happen next. All I knew was that when people left my life, they tended to stay gone.”

“‘ _ Didn’t know what we were _ …’” Lance echoed. “Keith. I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to remind you of this before this conversation is over: I told you I loved you. We were obviously fucking dating! At least,  _ I  _ thought of us as dating. Did you never --”

“I thought we were. And then I thought we weren’t. But we never actually said anything so… I’m realising now that we’re really bad at communication.”

Lance laughed. “We’re  _ so  _ bad at it. You’re telling me now that it was a mutual love and we both just… walked away and never spoke again? God, we’re idiots.”

“You never texted me when you landed like you said you would,” Keith grumbled. “How else was I supposed to take that?”

Lance shuffled awkwardly for a moment, looking at the ground. “Dropped my phone in the plane toilet like an idiot. Lost your number,” he said eventually. “But  _ I  _ still had the same number.  _ You  _ could have texted  _ me _ .”

“I thought you’d just fucking dumped me. I didn’t want to be that clingy ex.”

Lance sighed. Keith sighed.  _ Ark of Taujeer  _ played on in the background, all heavy beats and synthetic vocals. They could hear the crowd screaming from where they were. 

Finally, Keith sat down -- slid down the wall to sit on a crate of some sort of tools. He ran his hands through his hair and tried to get his breathing back under control. 

Lance joined him a moment later. “So what now?” he said quietly. “We both fucked up. Six years of this shit because we couldn’t have a conversation about what we were. Let’s get it right this time.” Keith can feel his eyes on him. “What are we, Keith? Because I know I haven’t loved anyone like I loved you.”

“I don’t know,” said Keith.

“Keith,” Lance warned. “Come on. Use your words.”

He sniffed, rubbed his nose, and turned his head away. He could see the lights from the show, flashing neon green through to pink, to white, to turquoise. 

“I still love Lance, I think,” he said at last, voice soft. “He… Every time I doubted in these last six years, I could hear his voice in my head. Just knowing that he had once believed in me was enough for me to keep going. I kept looking for his face in crowds. I kept expecting him to be there laughing at me when I faced another cooking disaster. I kept trying to let him go but, every time I got close, I’d get scared and chicken out.”

“Keith,” Lance’s voice was equally soft, “why are you talking like I’m not sitting right here?”

Keith looked at him then. “Six years is a long time. I’m sure as hell not the same person I was then. I doubt you are, too.”

He sat there and watched the emotions flicker across Lance’s face, barely five inches away from his own. Confusion. Hurt. Betrayal. Understanding.

“Okay,” he said, swallowed and spoke again. “Okay. So we do it again? Walk away and never look back?”

Before the thought had even occurred to him, Keith’s hand had already shot out and snatched at Lance’s arm. 

“No. Don’t,” he said. “Don’t go.” 

He looked away from Lance’s face, all wide eyes and parted lips -- the same damn face from all those years ago when Keith first turned around to glare at him. Fuck. This was harder than he’d thought it would be. Because it would’ve been so easy to just take his hand right then, to lean over and kiss him and pretend none of those lonely years ever happened. But they did. Time only flows one way. And Keith had to walk forward.

“Let me know you, Lance,” he said eventually. “The new you. Let me learn all the ways you’re different. And you can relearn me, too. Just don’t… don’t disappear.”

“Okay,” said Lance. And he shifted his arm beneath Keith’s hand so that he could lace their fingers together. “Let’s do that.”

 

“I wanna talk about  _ Cocoon  _ for a second here,” says Adam and Keith has to physically shake his head to bring himself back to the present. “No? I can’t talk about  _ Cocoon _ ?”

“No, no, you can,” Keith hurries to reassure him. “I was just… elsewhere.”

“So, it’s the  _ second _ single off the new album -- which is amazing, by the way. Let me just say, congratulations.”

“You’ve heard it already? It doesn’t come out until next week.”

“Oh, yeah. Your agency sent us over an advanced copy when you agreed to come on the show.” He throws his arms wide, miming a security guard holding back a crowd. “‘No one is to talk to Keith Kogane without hearing his new stuff,’ you know. That kind of thing.”

“Oh, man,” says Keith, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you  _ apologising _ ?” Adam says incredulously. 

“Just ‘cause, you know, Altea can be pretty intimidating at times. And I didn’t want you to have that foisted upon you if you didn’t want it.”

“Keith, I don’t think you understand,” says Adam conspiratorially, laying his hand on Keith’s arm, and the audience chuckles. “I got free  _ Castle of Lions  _ music before anyone else. I am not complaining.” 

The audience laughs harder and Keith grins.

“Well, in that case,” he says, “you’re welcome.”

“So, as I was saying,” Adam jumps straight back in,  “it’s the second single -- it’s already out there in the big wide world on Spotify and Apple Music and whatever -- but the first is, of course --” He waits.

“ _ Sleeping with Strangers _ ,” Keith supplies. 

There are cheers from the audience and Keith’s smile loses a little of its hard edges, grows a little more genuine the way it always does when he’s reminded that there are people out there that truly love the music he makes.

“Of course,” says Adam. “And, now that I know  _ Cocoon  _ is about Lance and is apparently true enough to reality for him to realise that himself…”

“You want to know if  _ Sleeping with Strangers  _ is based on a true story, too.” Keith sighs again.

He just spreads his hands helplessly as if to say, ‘Who could blame me?’ Surely not the audience. They’re doing that ‘called to the principal’ ooh-ing again.

“It’s not,” says Keith resolutely. That story does not need to be in the public domain. “Sorry to disappoint you. It’s a fiction.”

“Aw,” coos Adam with the audience. “Still, it’s a killer album.”

“Thank you.”

“On sale Tuesday, next week,” Adam ploughs on again. “Go buy it, get your friends to buy it -- your grandma. Everyone. It’s great. Thank you so much for coming on the show, Keith.”

Keith can barely get out, “My pleasure,” before Adam is talking again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Keith Kogane from  _ Castle of Lions _ ! Don’t go anywhere, we’ll be back right after the break!”

The lights flash. The theme music plays. The audience applauds. And Keith breathes a sigh of relief. 

It’s over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just like one important conversation sandwiched between two blocks of self-indulgent interview. Although... I've written so many damn interviews for my Skip Beat fic, why the hell I wanted to write another one is beyond me. I was just sitting there, watching interview after interview, taking notes on style and flow. It felt like I was studying how to do small talk. I could practically see my shrink's disappointed face...  
> Anyway, I hope you liked it all the same. I'm posting both chapters at once this time so carry on, my friends, carry on!
> 
> [P.S I've picked the Hang Out Festival as the festival just because it seems to have the right sort of music scene. When I was writing Cocoon/Getting Time, I actually had in mind something more like [Splendour in the Grass](https://www.splendourinthegrass.com/) but... yeah, this is set in the US so I had to just find the closest equivalent. Even if Hang Out is hosted on a beach, making a lot of the imagery of the previous works in the series inaccurate.]


	2. Lance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have spent two seconds on my blog, you will know that I love Plaxum with every inch of my being. She is my mermaid girl and I would sell her my soul. Also, if you've spent long _enough_ on my blog, you will have discovered that my little headcanon name for her is Platea Honore, with Plax being just a nickname.  
>  Anywho! Forward with the chapter! I hope you like it! I much prefer this one over Keith's, if that's any inducement.

“Hey, Mr McClain, is this you?”

Lance turns from where he’d been explaining Archimedes’ principle to his fourth period freshman class, pen squeaking against the whiteboard. “Hmm?”

Three rows back, the kid with the undercut cut just high enough for it to be obvious it was done by his mum, swivels his laptop around. Lance takes his glasses off the top of his head and puts them on to see the celebrity gossip website from halfway across the room.

“Oliver Scott, are you reading gossip articles in my class?” he asks with a smile. “Pretty brazen of you to point it out to me.”

“I just thought this guy looked like you,” says Oliver, not apologetic in the slightest.

Lance sighs and gestures for him to pass the laptop up, like a game of pass the parcel, to the front.

It _is_ him. He can see already, two students from his reach, it’s him -- with Keith’s hands on his arse and his tongue down his throat. It’s a screenshot from the livestream of the festival and, holy shit, Lance did really not think things through when he climbed up on that stage.

“Oh sh-butts,” he says and the entire class full of spotty pre-pubescent teens knows instantly.

Their physics teacher made out with the bassist from _Castle of Lions._

 

***

 

It’s a strange feeling to be twenty-five and called into the principal’s office. He’s pretty sure he’s about to be fired. ‘Corrupting the youth’, or something, by kissing a guy. It’s just one of those things that you feel should be illegal but know, deep down, is probably not. America doesn’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to non-discrimination laws…

Oh, god, he’s going to lose his job. The thought suddenly becomes real to him. Shifts out of that smoggy half-place to reality. The job he cried tears of blood to get. The job he’d set his heart on the minute he realised NASA would never take him with his eyesight. He might never get to space but, dammit, he’ll inspire a whole fucking _generation_ of astronauts to take his place up there. And he’s going to lose it because he’s an impatient idiot who can’t keep it in his pants. What if this become some sort of black stain on his record? What if no one else will hire him after this?

Lance wipes his sweating palms furiously on his slacks and pulls out his phone. Hunk will know. Hunk is the voice of reason and sense and all things good.

**Hunkleberry Finn (2:37pm):**

Is it possible to get fired for macking on a guy?!

The wait for a response is not comfortable.

**Hunkleberry Finn (2:40pm):**

_People have been?_

Akjsfgkasfausfbksaf fuck hunk! you’re not helping here!

You’re supposed to lie and tell me everything will be ok

_The school find out about Keith?_

I’m fucked

I’m so fucked

And not even in the fun way

Since me and Keith are ‘seeing where things go’ and all that bullshit

**(2:41pm):**

_Do you need me to call?_

_Or come over? I can close up and be at the school in ½ an hour_

No.

Just tell me I’m not going to have to move back in with my parents

_At least you don’t live in Texas?_

_That’d be a pretty guaranteed firing_

Right. Yeah. Let’s be grateful for the little things

I hope you’re picking up on this sarcasm here hunk because it’s a lot of sarcasm

**(2:42pm):**

_Really, bro, you’ll be fine._

_You said the principal is cool_

_Wasn’t she your TA in college?_

But is she cool enough?!?!

He feels his phone vibrate in his hand with Hunk’s response but he doesn’t have time to read it because the door is opening in front of him and an appropriately chastised looking kid is coming out, giving him a nod of solidarity, and then Platea is there and leaning against the doorway. She looks disappointed before he’s even stood up and Lance feels guilty already.

“Alright, Lance,” she says with a sigh, turning back into her office. “Let’s get this over with.”

Platea is a gorgeous woman, all copper Polynesian skin and thick dark hair and the most incredible pair of hips he’s ever seen on a human being. In fact, she and Lance met -- like an abnormally high number of his friends, he’s coming to realise -- when he started hitting on her in a coffee shop on campus. Because she’s stunning. Thousand yard stare and a mind quicker than a hare. Needless to say, it never went very far. She’d just turned around and said, “Lance McClain? Oh, yes, I marked your last essay,” and that was the end of that.

But she helped him get this job, put in a good word for him with the board. And now he’s going to lose it. He’s suddenly struck with the urge to apologise.

She’s just sitting at her heavy desk, window open to let in the sound of the gym class going on outside while she sorts papers and closes her laptop. God, he knows it’s an intimidation technique but that doesn’t mean it’s not working. He can only stand by the door, twiddling his thumbs.

She looks up. “Sit down, Lance.”

He does.

“Plax,” he starts but she holds up a hand to stop him.

“Jesus Christ, Lance,” she says at last. “On stage at a bloody music festival? With a crowd and cameras and a fucking _livestream_?” She stops to rub the bridge of her nose. Her foundation is streaky when she pulls her fingers away. “Look, you’re a good teacher. You’re passionate and clever and the kids love you --”

“Why does it feel like this sentence ends with ‘but we’re gonna have to let you go’?” Lance says.

“No! Let me finish, dammit,” she snaps back. “You’re a bloody good teacher, Lance. And I’m willing to fight for you.”

“What?” The word falls unplanned and whispered from his lips.

“This shouldn’t even be an issue,” she continues as if he’d never spoken at all. “If people were decent human beings, this wouldn’t be an issue --”

“But it _is_ !” Lance interrupts again. “People are dicks, Plax. You know this. Sometimes people are just dicks and some of those dicks happen to make up our PTA and, you know, the fucking _school board_ \-- the people in charge of making sure both me and you still have jobs tomorrow!”

“Fuck the school board!” she snaps back and then rights herself. “I mean, obviously you’ll have to keep it on the down low. There’s only so much I can do. But if they won’t let this slide because you’re a bloody independent, adult human being who can do what he damn-well pleases -- within the confines of the law, of course.”

“Of course.” Lance rolls his eyes.

Plax ignores him. “-- Then I’ll convince them to let it slide because it’s good rep.”

“Good rep?”

She grins at him. “The world is changing, Lance. You’re going to have to be our token queer -- our proof that we’re an inclusive and understanding school.”

“I’m not sure I like this idea,” he says.

“Yeah, it’s probably going to be fucking awful for you and I’m sorry about that.” She pauses. “I am, genuinely, sorry that I have to do this to you. You believe me on that at least, right Lance?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

Platea frowns but continues on regardless. “This is just the only way I can think of to make a bag of dicks, not only let you keep your job, but be glad you’re still here.”

He can feel her watching him, that thousand yard gaze focused on only him, but he can’t bring himself to look her in the eye. Fuck, this isn’t even fair to Plax. Because he knows he made this bed himself. He knows the state of homophobia in the world. And he still climbed up on that stage.

Because of Keith.

Because Keith was an anxious mess of abandonment issues and twisted everything up in his brain. Because Keith wrote a song about him. Because Lance heard that song and had to know, instinctively, instantly, whether there was a chance to go back to those hazy, blissful days they’d once shared.

So, was it Keith’s fault that Lance’s life had changed in an instant? Was he angry at _Keith_?

He could be, he knows. He could pile up all the blame at his feet and walk away from this whole shitshow. Why didn’t Keith just fucking talk to him back then? Why didn’t he ever call? Why didn’t he ever accept that friend request? It could, theoretically, be all Keith’s fault and Lance is a blameless little lamb, simply a victim.

But no. It’s not. That’s not what happened. Keith never intentionally got himself kicked out of foster homes for a solid decade. Lance, who so prides himself on emotional honesty and his way with words -- Lance, who _knew_ Keith was a tangle of abandonment issues -- left too many things unsaid, unclear. And Keith sure as fuck hadn’t physically grabbed Lance and dragged him up on that damn stage.

He’d just needed to know if there was hope.

So, they’re both to blame. Keith’s shitty ex-foster parents are to blame. Society is to blame. The asshats in the PTA and the school board are to blame.

And, god help him, if he could go back in time, Lance would still climb up on that stage. Just for the _chance_ to be with Keith again.

“So,” says Plax, face unsure, “we got a deal?”

Lance sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and takes her hand. “Sure,” he says.

Platea steps around her desk to pull him into a tight hug. “Give them half a year,” she says. “They’ll find someone else they’ve decided is unacceptable.”

 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Lance’s phone rings as soon as Plax’s door shuts behind him. And of course it’s Keith. There’s actually a moment where he considers not picking up because despite telling himself they shared equal blame for the pain of the last six years -- in fact that _he_ was solely to blame for the scandal of him being on that stage, it was still so much easier to be angry at Keith. And he has to force himself to shovel all the blame away again and pick up.

What was the point of getting himself into a stupid scandal with a public figure only to give up the treasure he’d fought so hard for in the end? The damage was already done, he might as well enjoy the rewards.

Platea, still leaning up against the inside of her office door, can hear her friend’s half of the conversation fading as he walks down the corridor and away from her.

_Hey babe._

_Yeah, I know we’re not. But you’re the babe of my heart already so I’ll call you that all I please._

_But plain old ‘Keith’ is boring!_

_And what if I call you Keith and someone hears and they recognise me from the festival and suddenly I’m being hounded by paparazzi who want the inside scoop on you! You wouldn’t want me to be hounded, would you, Keith? That’s too cruel!_

_So I’ll just call you babe._

_I know you love it._

He sounds so happy. She can’t help her own smile as she rolls her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! The end.  
> Until next time :)))

**Author's Note:**

> As always:  
> [My writing tumblr](https://thecowardlycreative.tumblr.com/)  
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> come talk to me :)
> 
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